Sunday, April 29, 2018

Penis Baba (Part Thirteen)

This monk's penis is so long, in her next movie Wonder Woman is going to use it as her lasso.

Pulling power! Indian monk known as Penis Baba uses his genitals to drag a CAR 100ft in front of cheering crowds in a 'sign of true devotion to God.'

By Khaleda Rahman For Mailonline
 
American Chimpanzee
JimDuchene.BlogSpot.com
RaisingMyFather.BlogSpot.com
@JimDuchene
 
How long is Penis Baba's penis?
YOU tell me.
 

Saturday, April 28, 2018

Penis Baba (Part Twelve)

This monk's penis is so long, Starbuck's three largest drink sizes are Venti, Trenta, and Penis Baba's Penis.

Pulling power! Indian monk known as Penis Baba uses his genitals to drag a CAR 100ft in front of cheering crowds in a 'sign of true devotion to God.'

By Khaleda Rahman For Mailonline
 
American Chimpanzee
JimDuchene.BlogSpot.com
RaisingMyFather.BlogSpot.com
@JimDuchene
 
How long is Penis Baba's penis?
YOU tell ME.
 

Tuesday, April 24, 2018

Penis Baba (Part Eleven)

This monk's penis is so long, when he was in high school, it was already in college.

Pulling power! Indian monk known as Penis Baba uses his genitals to drag a CAR 100ft in front of cheering crowds in a 'sign of true devotion to God.'

By Khaleda Rahman For Mailonline
 
American Chimpanzee
JimDuchene.BlogSpot.com
RaisingMyFather.BlogSpot.com
@JimDuchene
 
How long is Penis Baba's penis?
YOU tell ME.
 

Monday, April 23, 2018

Penis Baba (Part Ten)

This monk's penis is now so long, wherever he goes, his penis gets there a half-hour before he does.
 

    
American Chimpanzee
JimDuchene.BlogSpot.com
RaisingMyFather.BlogSpot.com
@JimDuchene
 

Saturday, April 21, 2018

Penis Baba (Part Nine)

This monk's penis is now so long, he once urinated off the Golden Gate Bridge with Milton Berle.
     "Dang," Milton Berle complained, "this water is cold."
     "Yes," Penis Baba agreed, "and it's deep, too."

 

American Chimpanzee
JimDuchene.BlogSpot.com
RaisingMyFather.BlogSpot.com
@JimDuchene
 
 

Friday, April 20, 2018

Penis Baba (Part Eight)

This Hindu holy man's penis is now so long, they used it to determine the actual depth of the Titanic.

Related image 

American Chimpanzee
JimDuchene.BlogSpot.com
RaisingMyFather.BlogSpot.com
@JimDuchene

 

Thursday, April 19, 2018

Penis Baba (Part Seven)

This monk's penis is now so long, he can have sex with his neighbor next door without even having to leave his house.

Monk Pulls 7 Cars Attached To His Testicles.
How did this martial arts master pull it off? But, also, why?
man pulls cars with testicles
Daily Mail
On the Internet, we can find the most wondrous and glorious things that the world has to offer: stories of firefighters reviving dogs, cinematic photos of nature's most vivid displays, content that inspires us to do more with the precious life we have, while we still have it.
 
On the Internet, we can also find things like this video of a martial arts master pulling a small fleet of Audis rigged to his genitalia. Oh, boundless information—you double-edged sword, you! On with it!

 
 
American Chimpanzee
JimDuchene.BlogSpot.com
RaisingMyFather.BlogSpot.com
@JimDuchene
 

Wednesday, April 18, 2018

Penis Baba (Part Six)

This monk's penis is so long, they once made a movie about it called Godzilla VS Penis Baba's Penis.

Monk Pulls 17-Ton Bus with His Penis in Guangdong

By Matthew Bossons, May 12, 2017
 
             
 
Just days after commuters in Guangzhou made headlines for pushing a 100-ton metro carriage to free an elderly woman’s leg, a kung fu monk in Huizhou has decided to up the ante – allegedly pulling a coach bus with his – er – penis. 
 
 
American Chimpanzee
JimDuchene.BlogSpot.com
RaisingMyFather.BlogSpot.com
@JimDuchene
 

Tuesday, April 17, 2018

Penis Baba (Part Five)

This monk's penis is now so long, when there's a Long Penis contest, he has enough to win First, Second, AND Third.

Pulling power! Indian monk known as Penis Baba uses his genitals to drag a CAR 100ft in front of cheering crowds in a 'sign of true devotion to God.'

By Khaleda Rahman For Mailonline
 
American Chimpanzee
JimDuchene.BlogSpot.com
RaisingMyFather.BlogSpot.com
@JimDuchene
 

Monday, April 16, 2018

Penis Baba (Part Four)

This monk's penis is now so long, when there's a Long Penis contest, he only pulls out enough to win. 

Pulling power! Indian monk known as Penis Baba uses his genitals to drag a CAR 100ft in front of cheering crowds in a 'sign of true devotion to God.'

By Khaleda Rahman For Mailonline
 
American Chimpanzee
JimDuchene.BlogSpot.com
RaisingMyFather.BlogSpot.com
@JimDuchene
 

Sunday, April 15, 2018

Penis Baba (Part Three)

What have YOU done for God lately to show your devotion?

Pulling power! Indian monk known as Penis Baba uses his genitals to drag a CAR 100ft in front of cheering crowds in a 'sign of true devotion to God.'

By Khaleda Rahman For Mailonline
 
American Chimpanzee
JimDuchene.BlogSpot.com
RaisingMyFather.BlogSpot.com
@JimDuchene
 

Penis Baba (Part Two)

This monk's penis is now so long, it's grown a penis of its own, and THAT penis can pull a car.

Pulling power! Indian monk known as Penis Baba uses his genitals to drag a CAR 100ft in front of cheering crowds in a 'sign of true devotion to God.'

By Khaleda Rahman For Mailonline
 
American Chimpanzee
JimDuchene.BlogSpot.com
RaisingMyFather.BlogSpot.com
@JimDuchene
 

Friday, April 13, 2018

Penis Baba (Part One)

When me don't get any sex at home, they find something else to do with their penises. 

Pulling power! Indian monk known as Penis Baba uses his genitals to drag a CAR 100ft in front of cheering crowds in a 'sign of true devotion to God.'

By Khaleda Rahman For Mailonline
 
American Chimpanzee
JimDuchene.BlogSpot.com
RaisingMyFather.BlogSpot.com
@JimDuchene
  

Saturday, April 7, 2018

The Toilet Roll Holder

Remember back in January when I told you how my father was constantly breaking the shower curtain rod? Well…
     "Honey," my wife said to me, again giving me her sweetest smile. "You need to repair the toilet paper holder in dad’s bathroom."
     "What?" I said, almost spitting out my coffee.
     I would have sprayed it out in a comedic double-take except for two reasons: 1) it’s expensive, and 2) it's delicious. I may be cheap—I mean, frugal—but I also appreciate perfection. Gourmet coffee is too precious a commodity to be wasted trying to be funny.
     But I digress...
     “Why?” I asked my lovely wife.
     Actually, I knew why. It was my father. Godzilla may have lumbered through downtown Tokyo knocking down skyscrapers, but that giant lizard's got nothing on my father when it comes to breaking things. So, when I asked my wife why, I really wasn’t expecting an answer, but she was kind enough to provide one for me anyway.
     "Because dad says the house cleaner broke it."
     I tried to raise one eyebrow at her, the way she does when she’s irritated with me. Failing miserably, I looked in the direction of my father. He was watching baseball, his favorite pastime, and ignoring our entire conversation. If my wife had whispered she was going to Costco, he'd have already been at the car, but this particular conversation was of no interest to him.
     "I'll take care of it," I assured her.
     "Dad!" my wife called out, wanting to include him.
     Personally, I've learned it's better not to confuse my Dad with too much information. I’ll do what I need to do first, and apologize later if I have to.
     "Huh?" my father said, turning our way, but keeping one eye on the TV.
     "We need to go into your bathroom to fix the toilet paper holder."
     "You're going where to fix what?" he asked.
     "We're going to fix the toilet paper holder in your bathroom."
     My father turned back to the TV. This information didn't even deserve one eye's worth of attention from him.
     "Yeah,” he said, waving us off, “your maid is rough. She cleans too hard."
     "Maybe it wasn't her," I chimed in.
     "Yeah, it was her."
     "How do you know?"
     "I just know."
     "In that case..." I began, slowly.
     My wife knew I was about to tease my father, and gave me a perfectly raised single eyebrow of disapproval. “Don’t do it,” it advised. Her eyebrow generally gives me good advice, and I always come out ahead when I follow it. Too bad I never do.

     "...maybe the maid used your toilet,” I told him, “and, when she got up, she used the toilet paper holder for support, and her weight broke it."
     "She'd better not be using my toilet," he warned us.
     "I'm not saying she does, but if she's gotta go, she's gotta go."
     "If she’s gotta go, she'd better not be going in my bathroom."
     "Okay, pop," I told him. He was getting agitated at the thought of our cleaning lady using his toilet, so I backed off a little to let him settle down.
     "Don’t worry, dad," my wife added, trying to distract him from the image of our maid sitting on his commode. "She doesn’t."
     I left, and made my way to the scene of the crime. Entering his sanctum sanctorum, I felt like Indiana Jones. The holder should have been bolted onto the side of the sink cabinet, which is made out of one inch plywood. It wasn't. Instead, there were two large holes where the toilet paper holder used to be. It was just as I thought: when he was getting up from his porcelain throne, he used the holder for support, and his weight pulled it out of the wood.
     Trust me, I watch CSI.
     As I was reinstalling the holder, I looked up to make sure the shower curtain rod was secured properly. That’s when I got a brilliant idea. I ran it past my wife, and she agreed.
     "I don't want bathtub handles," my father told us.
     "But, dad," my wife said, "they'll make it easier for you to get in and out of the tub."
     "I don't want them, and I don't need them. You'll be wasting your money."
     "Pop," I lied, "we're installing them in our bathtub, too."
     "Well, I don't care if you need handles to get in and out of your bathtub, but I don't."
     "Dad," we both said, but it was no use.
     His mind was made up.
     And then one day my wife said the magic word “Costco.” If you think it was some kind of grand plan to get him out of the house, you'd be right. I took the opportunity to install the bathtub handles, making sure one was in reach of the toilet. When they got back my wife looked at me, and I gave her a little nod.
     "Dad," she told him, "guess what? We installed the bathtub handles you wanted."
     That was a nice try, but my father wasn’t born yesterday. I know, I’ve seen his birth certificate.
     "Good thing you’re rich," he said, sarcastically, “because you’ve just wasted your money.”
     Time may heal all wounds, but it does other things as well. Recently, my father admitted to us without actually admitting to us how much he liked the hand support.
     "Why didn’t you install them before?" he told me. “Like I wanted you to.”
     My wife nodded her head, agreeing with him.
     And you know what?
     Nothing has broken since.           
     
When my wife and father are busy shopping at Costco, you can find me being frugal at RaisingMyFather.BlogSpot.com, JimDuchene.BlogSpot.com, or @JimDuchene. 
     
as featured in Desert Exposure Magazine
desertexposure.com   
     
American Chimpanzee
JimDuchene.BlogSpot.com
RaisingMyFather.BlogSpot.com
@JimDuchene
   

Sunday, April 1, 2018

BRRAPPP!

There's an old joke that goes: 
     An elderly man says to his doctor, "Doc, I have this problem.  I keep throwing these silent farts all day long.  (See?  There goes one now).  I can't help it, doc.  I keep farting and farting, but they make no noise.  (Oops!  There goes another one.)  I don't know what's wrong with me.  I can throw the most massive farts, and they'll make no sound.  (Ahhh, that's three in a row.)  What do you think?"
     "Well," the doctor says.  "I think you need to have your hearing checked."
 
     Now, I told you that story to tell you this story:
 
     My Dad has his own room.  His room, actually, is in a guest house in the front of our main house.  If it's not called the Father-In-Law House, then it should be.  His room has its own satellite TV, radio/CD player, telephone, and refrigerated air.  The problem is that he likes to watch TV in the greatroom of the main house, which forces everybody--mainly me--to watch TV somewhere else.
     And that's where my Dad is right now.  He's watching baseball.  In fact, he's been watching baseball all day long.
     "Who's playing, Dad?" I'll ask him.
     "I don't know," he'll answer, and keep watching. 
     If it's not the Yankees, he really doesn't care who's playing.  Now, I like baseball as much as the next guy, as long as the next guy is someone who doesn't like baseball, and I have fond memories of watching baseball on TV as a toddler, when the only other options were The Edge of Night and Sing Along With Mitch.  When and where I lost my interest in baseball, who knows?  But it's gone.  No use crying over spilled milk.
     Speaking of milk, I'm kind of hungry, so I pour myself a glass of 2% and start to fix myself something to eat.
     "Do you want something, Dad?" I ask.
     "What?"
     "Would you like something to eat?"
     "Would I like something to eat?"
     "I'm fixing myself something, and would like to know if you would like me to fix you something."
     "You're making it?"
     "I'm the only one here, Dad."
     "Would I like something to eat."
     "Yes."
     "And you're making it."
     "Yes."
     "No, thanks."  My Dad is the only one who can make a polite statement sound insulting.
     Well, more for me.
     I'm not too picky about what I eat, and that's probably why Dad turned me down.  I tend to keep things simple.  It's not that I don't appreciate good food, I do.  And it's not that my wife isn't a good cook, she is.  It's just that in my bachelor years I got used to eating pretty much anything that was available.  Fast food.  Leftovers.  Meals by girlfriends trying to prove they can cook.  I kid my wife that I married her for only two reasons:  She could cook in the kitchen, and she could cook in the bedroom.*
     Meanwhile, my Dad gets up from his chair and goes to his little house with all the deluxe accommodations.  I grab some potato bread, Miracle Whip, various lunch meats, and lettuce, tomato, and such.  I decide to live large, so I even grab an avocado.
     Ten minutes have passed, and no Dad.
     I tear off a couple of lettuce leaves.  Rinse them, put them on the side to dry.  Slice the tomato.  Do the same with the avocado.  I look toward where my Dad had been sitting.  Still no Dad.
     So I grab four slices of potato bread, and slather them with Miracle Whip.  Heck, I decide to live life on the edge, so I grab mustard from the refrigerator, and slather on a little bit of that, too.  It should give my sandwich an interesting combination of sweetness and tart.
     My Dad's still gone.  The fact that he's left on the TV annoys me, and he does that constantly.  He'll sit, turn on the TV, get up, and leave.  I think I've given him enough time, so I walk over, grab the remote, and turn it off.  If he's not back by now, he's not coming back, I reason.
     I guess I shouldn't let it annoy me so much.  I'm sure I did the same thing when I was a kid.  I probably used to get up and and leave Mitch Miller warbling along with the bouncing ball, so I should cut my Dad some slack.  But I'm sure, even as a toddler, I would turn off the TV the majority of the time.  Do you know why I know this? 
     Because my Dad wouldn't have tolerated anything less.
     Settle down, settle down, I tell myself.  If I let myself get too irked about Dad not turning off the TV, I'll ruin my appetite.**
     So I get back to my two sandwiches.  Lettuce leaves torn and rinsed--check!  Tomato and avocado sliced--check!  Potato breads properly slathered--check!  I open the package of turkey slices and put a healthy amount on two separate slices of bread.  Heck, it's turkey...  I pile it on a little higher.  Top it off with the lettuce, tomato, and avocado.  Perfect.
     Just then, my Dad comes back.  He walks back to the TV.  Sees it's off.  I don't know if this confuses him, or if he's upset because I had the nerve to turn it off.  He stands in front of the black screen.  He stands there for a few minutes, trying to decide what to do, I guess.  Meanwhile, I serve myself a little more milk, and top off the sandwich with the remaining two slices of bread.
     I keep my head down, ignoring my Dad, and try to enjoy my meal.  I take the first bite of my sandwich.  Mmm, that's good, but you know what it needs?  Some chips.  So I walk over to the pantry, and grab myself a bag of Vinegar & Salt chips.  I can hear him mumbling something.  He mumbles to himself for a few minutes, before he starts walking back to his room.
     "What's that, Dad?"  I ask.
     "Nothing," he mumbles some more.
     To get to his guest house he has to walk right past me, through the kitchen, exit the french doors that lead to the patio, follow a little pathway, and--bam!--he's home.  The part of that sentence that's important is the part where I say he has to walk right past me, because...
     I lift my sandwich to take another bite, when--BRRAPPP!--he cuts loose with a huge fart just as he's passing me.
     He mumbles something again, and walks out of the kitchen. 
     I put my sandwich down, and walk away.  My appetite gone.  I don't know if it was intentional, accidental, or revenge for my having turned off a baseball game he really wasn't interested in.  All I know is...
     ...he ruined my meal.
 
 
  American Chimpanzee
JimDuchene.BlogSpot.com
RaisingMyFather.BlogSpot.com
@JimDuchene
 
  as featured in Desert Exposure Magazine
desertexposure.com

*But let's keep that between you and me.
**Did I mention that he does it ALL the time?  For some reason, instead of turning off the TV, he'll just get up, walk away, and leave it for us to worry about.